07-Spite
by Chronic Guardian
Summary: Forcing a man into a corner was something the Caelondians would've lived to regret someday. Assuming they'd survived it, of course. [Twelve Shots of Summer]


**Spite**

by Chronic Guardian

**A/N: Written for the Twelve Shots of Summer Week 7(Crime and Punishment).**

**WARNING! MAJOR PLOT SPOILERS!**

**You can go and pickup a downloadable form of Bastion at your local Amazon internet and play through the thing in about two days without being too dedicated. Since it's already one of the best indie games ever made (according to critical acclaim, not ****_just_****my opinion), I'd imagine it's worth your while. **

**However, you can also go and check out less spoilerific fics at the Twelve Shots of Summer C2. Plus, they're written by authors who generally know what they're doing. To save on page jumping though, we'd recommend you just go through with it and read this story while you're here. Why not right?**

**...Right?**

**Ruefully yours,**

**-CG**

}{

Beautiful. In a terrifying, horrific sort of way, perhaps. A cold shell of threading metal veins wrapped around the sleeping faint glow of blue; creeping down the barrel as the sickly sweet smell of cooling agents evaporated into the air. It was a master's work, created to do one job and do it right: Mass destruction at the pull of a trigger.

The Calamity Cannon.

"Unfortunately, it's only fitting that you do the honors," Gully, the Head Mancer said grimly, motioning to the switch with one hand. "After all, you built the thing."

Fully aware of the Marshall's musket pointed at his back, Venn stared at the aging Cael in shock. Did they know? They at least suspected, didn't they? This couldn't just be the Caelondian sense of formality.

No, this had to be a test on their part. The cannon was aimed just past the Tazzled Terminals, straight into the heart of Ura territory, _his_ motherland. They wanted him to prove his loyalty.

The Marshall behind him, a younger man named Trits, sighed. "Venn, we don't have a whole lot of time here. The observatory reported movement on the other side of the border, something _big_. Either we end it now, or we have a whole 'nother bloody war on our hands. You can stop all that. Think of what we could avoid."

"Yeah," Venn, the Ura Mancer, grunted wryly. He was a dead man either way, he might as well get it out of his system. "All that hard earned guilt and grief... we could just go off pretending it wasn't our fault an entire civilization disappeared overnight. Now isn't that something?"

"This ain't a joke, Venn," Gully's voice dropped even deeper, to a tone more like a Gasfella with a stomachache. "We need you to operate the cannon. It's a... delicate matter, you know. Best to have someone who knows the thing doin' it."

Venn pursed his lips and took a single step forward. They were right. There was a whole 'nother war just waiting to happen and he was the tipping point on deciding who was just and who was dead.

The only thing about that was... well, he'd already decided.

There was never any doubt that it was wrong. One way or another, there wasn't any justifying genocide, even if you really could silence the losers. No, Venn hadn't been so naïve as to think the Calamity would be used for anything less than wholesale slaughter.

That's why he'd rigged it to blow up in their faces.

It was preemptive justice. They'd already decided where they stood, already counted out the cartridges for the crime. He was only carrying out the punishment they deserved.

_Them, and all their kind_.

Venn grabbed hold of the trigger and tightened his fingers. The machine groaned to life as power concentrated into the chamber. Despite his earlier taunting, his stomach was desperately trying to somersault in the other direction and his knees were giving out. He hadn't planned on being around for this part of the story. No, he was supposed to be safe in his traditional Ura burrow; waking up to a serene morning and returning triumphant to a world free of the fearful outsiders bent on destroying the Ura.

In the end though, perhaps he was just as guilty as they were. After all, he was till ending a society from the ground up, just not his own. How did a man pay for something like that?

No, there was no going back now. It had been the Ura or the Caels, and Venn had made his choice. He grimaced and gave the trigger one final squeeze.

And then it was over.

}Epilogue{

The destruction was instantaneous. No pain, no suffering.

No hate.

Men stood in the town square, discussing the latest wares from Jawson's Bog. Women were bent over in their gardens, grasping at the ripe vineapples that had just come into harvest season. Children stood still on street corners, watching equally stationary wagons paused in the middle of the road. Nobody moved. And they never would again.

But far off, beyond the Rippling Walls, a boy woke up to find his whole world torn to pieces. A world that had wronged and spited him, but his world nonetheless. He got up, and put one foot in front of the other. He didn't know about the Mancers or their crimes yet, but the punishment was plain enough to see.

In the innocent mind of the child, though, even a world that had deserved this kind of punishment could hold something worth saving. So he walked on. And even in its broken state, the city rose to meet his boots. Because when it came down to it, it wasn't done yet either.

As if in spite of the wrongs of others, the world moved on.

}_Fin_{


End file.
